


I Just Want to Kill You (Except That I Don’t)

by bitchin_beskar



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Crusades, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, He loves tormenting Nicky, Historical Inaccuracies, Joe is a little bitch, M/M, Nicky is flustered, Poor Nicky couldn’t take it anymore, Sexual Tension from swordfighting, Warning: I’m an atheist so any mentions of religion please take with a grain of salt, never have I ever been religious, this is nOT how this would have gone down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchin_beskar/pseuds/bitchin_beskar
Summary: The beginnings of Nicky and Joe’s relationship, from the perspective of a Crusader
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 13
Kudos: 225





	I Just Want to Kill You (Except That I Don’t)

**Author's Note:**

> Ever wonder about what it was like for the other crusaders watching Joe and Nicky kill each other over and over? Well I did, and this is what happened! This story is from Ferrando’s perspective, watching as his fellow soldier figures out that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t hate the enemy (or more specifically, one singular enemy) all that much. 
> 
> Warning: I am not religious, but there are mentions of Christianity and the Crusades, along with potentially racist connotations when referring to Yusuf and his people. This story is not historically accurate, and any mistakes that I make are my own. This story does not personally reflect my own views on Christians or Muslims.

It had been three weeks since the Saracen had killed Nicolo, and by the grace of God, Nicolo had been brought back. Their commander had declared Nicolo’s resurrection a holy sign, that their cause was just in the eyes of God, and that their siege of Jerusalem was the will of God. 

Ferrando had believed their commander, he’d had no reason not to, until the very next day when Nicolo faced off against the same Saracen as before. Ferrando thought that Nicolo had killed the Muslim soldier, just as the soldier had killed Nicolo, but now, here they were, fighting ferociously. 

Ferrando watched, stunned, as Nicolo and the Muslim struck each other at the same time, burying their weapons in the other’s chest, falling on the battlefield once more. Surely Nicolo was only entitled to one miracle, and now that he had struck down his foe for good, God would be gracious, and Nicolo would be allowed admittance into Heaven. 

But, as Ferrando fought his way over to his fallen brethren, he was shocked to see Nicolo’s eyes open once more, a shuddering breath escaping his fellow soldier as Nicolo grasped the Saracen’s scimitar, removing it from his chest in one swift movement. On the ground, across from Nicolo, the Saracen jerked awake as well, removing Nicolo’s sword from where it was buried in between his ribs. 

Both men sat up, and Ferrando watched as their wounds closed, miraculously. The Saracen stood up, and Ferrando raised his sword, ready to defend his shield-brother, but the Saracen merely held out Nicolo’s sword, hilt first. 

Nicolo stood slowly, eyeing the Saracen warily. He slowly held out the scimitar, trading weapons with the enemy. An understanding seemed to pass between the two men, and the Saracen turned away, heading back to his campsite. Nicolo watched him walk away, a funny look on his face. Ferrando tried to get Nicolo’s attention, but Nicolo just waved him off, heading back towards their camps. 

And so the pattern continued day after day. Every morning, Nicolo would charge onto the battlefield, but he always seemed… distracted. That is, until he managed to cross paths with the Saracen. Ferrando didn’t always see them fight, but he heard stories from the other men. Over the course of three weeks, Nicolo and the Saracen had killed each other in practically every single way imaginable. 

At some point, Nicolo learned the Saracen’s name was Yusuf–when on earth did Nicolo find the time to lean the Muslim’s  _ name _ in the middle of  _ fighting _ to the  _ death _ –and there wasn’t a night that went by that Ferrando didn’t hear at least  _ one _ complaint about their enemy, and more specifically, Yusuf. 

“Why must God torment me so?” Nicolo lamented one night, sitting beside Ferrando in one of the tents. “How can it be God’s will that I strike Yusuf down when he rises the same as I each and every time?” Nicolo sounds so despondent, and Ferrando  _ might _ feel bad for him if this wasn’t the third or fourth time he’d heard this complaint. 

“Surely this is the work of the Devil, tempting me so that I may stray from my holy path,” Nicolo mutters, and Ferrando looks over at his shield-brother in shock. But Nicolo doesn’t seem to realize that he’d spoken aloud, and Ferrando is left to wonder just what it is that Nicolo meant. 

Ferrando gets his answer two days later, when he once again witnesses Nicolo facing off against Yusuf. The men are evenly matched, and Ferrando notices much of the fighting seems to cease near them, as though the others, Christians and Muslims alike, are waiting to see the outcome of this fight. 

The battle seems to last for ages, the clash of metal ringing out, the dusty ground stirring up around the two men, creating the illusion of two otherworldly beings. Finally, Yusuf managed to gain the upper hand, trapping Nicolo between his chest and his blade. None of the other soldiers move, they all remember Nicolo’s anger when a fellow warrior of Christ had struck Yusuf down. Nicolo had raged at poor Benetto, nearly causing the young soldier to faint from fright, yelling about how only he was allowed to kill Yusuf. Ferrando had raised an eyebrow at that, but Nicolo had been too angry to realize what he’d said. Ferrando watched as Nicolo gathered Yusuf’s body into his arms, and to his surprise, he saw fear on Nicolo’s face.

Perhaps their divine blessings only kept them alive if they were the reasons behind each other’s demise. But surely Nicolo should be pleased? His enemy might finally perish? But as Ferrando watched Nicolo press his hand against Yusuf’s wound, pleading with the Saracen to come back, he wondered if perhaps there was something more than just anger tying the two men together. 

Now, with Yusuf pressing his blade against Nicolo’s throat, the only thing the Nicolo could do was press back against Yusuf’s chest. Ferrando watched with no small amount of interest as Yusuf leaned forward, his lips a hair’s breadth from Nicolo’s ear, whispering something. Ferrando can’t hear his words over the sounds of the battle raging around them, but he watches as a blush spreads across Nicolo’s cheeks, right before the scimitar slices across his throat, spilling his blood on the dirt. Nicolo manages to stab Yusuf in the side as he goes down, taking Yusuf down with him. Somehow, Ferrando doesn’t think that blush is the result of threats, and he can’t help but wonder what Yusuf said to Nicolo to make his cheeks turn as pink as they did.

* * *

Ever since that day, Ferrando noticed that Yusuf was getting bolder and bolder in his attacks. He seemed to find ways to ensure that he was in contact with Nicolo in some way each time they fought: pining Nicolo to the ground, against a wall, against his chest. Yusuf seemed to prefer grappling with Nicolo instead of fighting with swords and scimitars. Every time, without fail, Nicolo would flush, which delighted Yusuf to no end. He seemed to enjoy making Nicolo feel embarrassed, delighting in every blush, stutter, and gasp that he could wring from him. 

And every single night, Ferrando had to listen to Nicolo complain, moan and whine about Yusuf. He listened, with the patience of a saint, while Nicolo begged for someone to tell him why Yusuf tempted him so. Nicolo was not normally a very talkative man, but in his frustration with Yusuf, he’d spoken more in a month than Ferrando had heard him speak in a year. 

By the thirtieth time the two men have killed each other, most of the soldiers in their regiment and the enemy’s camp know of the two opposing soldiers, touched by God, fighting to the death every day. Ferrando is quite proud of the fact that he was the first to notice when their little dance stopped being so angry and hateful and something…  _ other _ .

He’d run out of fingers if he had to count on his hands the number of times other soldiers had come up to him to ask if the Saracen was Nicolo’s bedmate. Their tension on the battlefield had transformed, and all the men could see it. Except for Nicolo. He refused to. Ferrando would hear Yusuf speaking in Arabic to Nicolo while they fought, and despite not understanding the words, the  _ tone _ in which Yusuf spoke made Nicolo flush a brilliant red. Nicolo was quite vicious in his kills whenever Yusuf would taunt him, although Ferrando thought it might be less out of hatred and more embarrassment. Nicolo was a priest, after all, at his core. Not a soldier. 

But even priests can be tempted, and according to Nicolo’s rants when he thought the others were asleep, Yusuf was the most tempting of all. Cosimo and Giacomo had started a betting pool on when Nicolo would finally snap, and either outright rejecting the Saracen or finally fucking him. Ferrando really should shut it down before it came to the attention of their commander, but he couldn’t bring himself to. There was so little entertainment in the camps, let the men have their fun.

* * *

Two months from the day that Nicolo and Yusuf rose from the dead for the first time, everything changed. Ferrando wasn’t entirely sure why things changed, today of all days, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. It had started out normally, just like every other day on the battlefield. The two armies clashed, men fighting and dying like they had every day for the past two months. Once more, Nicolo and Yusuf met on the battlefield, to fight to the death, like they had  _ every day _ for the past few months. Yusuf had gained the upper hand for the past week or so, and Ferrando knew that it angered Nicolo to no end. 

Today, Nicolo gained the upper hand–and fought ferociously to maintain it–rather quickly in the fight, and he managed to force Yusuf to his knees, the tip of his sword pressing into the hollow of Yusuf’s throat. Ferrando was still shocked at the fact that Yusuf never once looked afraid, before any of his many, many deaths at the hands of Nicolo. Somehow, the Muslim managed to look smug, even when on his knees, with a deadly blade at his throat. 

Nicolo was red in the face, panting from exertion, his white-knuckled grip on the longsword betraying his nervousness. Both men were dirty, covered in dust and blood from wounds already healed. Ferrando could hear as Nicolo began to yell at the man before him, the one who’d been tormenting Nicolo for two months. He couldn’t hear everything Nicolo was yelling, but he was yelling in Genoese, so Ferrando doubted Yusuf even understood him. Yusuf had shown no indication that he understood Genoese, so Ferrando wasn’t sure how effective Nicolo’s scolding was going to be.

“Why? Why must you torment me? Surely you’ve been sent by the devil, for there can be no explanation for why God would choose you to rise by my side!” Nicolo was frantic, begging for answers, answers no one had, least of all Yusuf. 

Ferrando watched as Yusuf looked up at Nicolo, and for a moment, Ferrando thought he was going to speak. Instead, he winked. 

Nicolo stared at Yusuf, a blush spreading across his cheeks as the Muslim stared up at him, smirking lasciviously. Ferrando thought Nicolo was about to run him through, but to his and the other soldiers’ shock, Nicolo dropped his sword, yanking Yusuf up by his tunic and pulling him into a kiss.

Ferrando felt his jaw drop, but he made no move to close it. He never could have imagined that Nicolo would actually act on his feelings, but the evidence to the contrary was clear in front of him. 

Nicolo pulled back suddenly, his grip on Yusuf’s tunic weakening. He blinked, looking stunned, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. Yusuf slowly opened his eyes, a dazed look on his face. Nicolo started to apologize, stuttering and stammering over his words, but Yusuf was having none of it. Gripping his cheeks, Yusuf smashed his lips against Nicolo’s. 

Ferrando and the other soldiers watched as Yusuf kissed Nicolo more passionately than any of them had ever seen, let alone experienced. Many of the men looked away, cheeks red. Even their enemies had stopped fighting, choosing instead to stare at the two men kissing like they would die if their lips stopped touching. 

Nicolo buried his hands in Yusuf’s hair, holding the other man as close as possible, and Yusuf’s arm wound around Nicolo’s waist, clutching tightly at the fabric of Nicolo’s shirt. It was as though they’d forgotten they were supposed to be fighting. 

Ferrando was startled when he felt a tapping on his shoulder. There stood Cosimo, a smug grin on his face. “You should’ve joined the betting pool, I just won twenty bezants!” Ferrando smacked him across the back of the head, but that didn’t deter the grinning soldier.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be here when the armor starts coming off.”


End file.
